


We Could Be Immortals Just Not for Long

by L4sht0n



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Flirting, Big brain moments, Careers (Hunger Games), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hanbin's from district 6, Hunger Games Tributes, Idiots in Love, Inspired by The Hunger Games, Jiwon is from 2, Lots of PTSD, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Pining, Slow Burn, Survival, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24421063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L4sht0n/pseuds/L4sht0n
Summary: It's the 55th Hunger Games, it would be Hanbin's last one, that is until he's drafted to be the male tribute for District 6. He'll fight in a deadly arena along with 23 others, and only one will come out as the survivor. As a tribute from 6, the odds aren't exactly in Hanbin's favour, but he'll make them in his favour, somehow.
Relationships: Kim Hanbin | B.I/Kim Jiwon | Bobby
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm super excited for this fic, this is a birthday present for my lil sis, again I'm not in this fandom, but I hope my work is enjoyable anyways.

The train wheels shrieked against the rusty railway tracks as the heavy locomotive rippled past him. Leaving a heavy gush of wind drifting through the air and around Hanbin, nearly knocking him off his feet. He was too close to the railway for his own safety, but he was too used to it to care. Had he been thirteen and a skinny wimp, he’d might’ve – but he didn’t. Those times seemed ages ago, and Hanbin was too established in his way of life to care about a passing train. It wasn’t like he’d ever been hurt majorly. He’d had his injuries here and there, it was part of the job, but nothing too major to scare Hanbin from trains. There was no doubt that Hanbin had seen and experienced his fair share of trauma through the job, but even if those incidents would be enough to scare Hanbin away from the job, he wouldn’t have many other options to turn to.

District 6 wasn’t known for many things; it was one of the many forgettable districts. Then again, Capitol didn’t seem to care for any other districts then the capital, occasionally District 1 and 2, if anything. District 6 was ranked so low, that it was impossible to care more than a few seconds about it. The only reason one would care about the district was if they had a winner, which they rarely did. If they didn’t care about their ever so rare winners, then they cared about their export. District 6 was the one and only train district, they fixed them, drove them, and maintained them. If they didn’t work on trains it was because they worked on the railroad.  


The sun was glimmering in beautiful orange and blue shades. Even hints of pink were mixing into the canvas that would be the sky. The chocolate brown eyes briefly glanced to the sky, it was early, too early even Hanbin wondered as he stifled a yawn. He removed his eyes from the sky and looked back at the rail tracks again, the train was gone. It was silent, he could hear anything but his own breath and his own footsteps. Quickly, he crossed the tracks in case another train should arrive. He knew it wouldn’t, he’d had the routes memorized in his head, and knew there wouldn’t come any train for another twenty minutes. That didn’t stop Hanbin from crossing the tracks quickly. 

It was internalized. Ever since he was little, he’d always known he should check twice, three times before he crossed the tracks, and when he crossed the tracks he should do so quickly. Hanbin had stopped looking for trains one, two or even three times before he crossed the railroad – but he couldn’t get himself to cross the tracks slowly. He’d seen too many kids die that way, seen to many people in general die that way. A lot were accidents, some were on purpose – it hurt as much either way. In the end, it was District 6’s job to deal with the trains and every maintenance. That included washing blood and removing bodies from the tracks. Hanbin had done it a few times himself. It was wrong that a fourteen-year-old should get the task of cleaning the blood and other things from a train – even if it was an “easy” job. Hanbin hadn’t managed to keep in his breakfast, or dinner from the night before.

The emptiness and nothingness continued for a while. It was dead silent, nothing but the sound of Hanbin’s steps and the railroad that crept back and forth, to the left and to the right, up and down across the entire country, Panem. It was dead silent until it wasn’t – Hanbin was getting close, he could tell. He’d walked this distance every day since his 13th birthday, he knew it like his own pocket – and maybe even better. He could recognize every tree, every peddle. If his knowledge of the track wasn’t a dead giveaway, then The Hoard should. 

Despite District 6 being the 4th richest district in Panem and the largest populated district, that didn’t stop poverty to rule the district with an iron hand. In fact, Hanbin would claim it gave all the more reason for it to be poverty in their district. Homelessness and drug addiction were normal – one couldn’t claim to have seen District 6 without seeing homeless people or drug addicts, most likely a mix of both. These kinds of people gathered and lived on The Hoard. As Hanbin was passing by he could only see tents, and what was supposed to resemble some shelter hoarded up to keep thousands dry and warm for the night. Most people were still asleep, it was early – the sun wasn’t all the way up. Hanbin for sure wasn’t. Another yawn escaped his lips before he tore his gaze away from The Hoard, it was better not to look at them. He gained nothing from it, and he couldn’t offer them anything.

The little he earned he needed for himself, and sympathy wasn’t enough to feed anyone. Hanbin was just lucky to have a job, he could’ve easily ended up here. He still could. What he’d just looked at could with a snap of the fingers end up as his future residence. About 500 yards down the track he’d find the station, where he’d worked for five years. Probably where Hanbin would work for the rest of his life. The black-haired man started to sprint the last yards to the station and arrived there within minutes. Hanbin was the fastest on their station – it probably had something to with him being the youngest. And was always sent to be the runner-boy. The guy who ran alongside the trains to check they were running smoothly. He’d done it since he was skinny 13-year-old almost too thin to be able to run. Hanbin could remember wobbly running after the trains to check the trains almost unsure what he was looking for. He could remember when the machines were much faster than himself, and he’d fall behind – God that was such a long time ago.

He slowed down as he arrived at his workplace, he could hear the familiar sound of metal against metal, and heavy gear ticking together. There were already a lot of people here, as to be expected. The train station was a better place than a lot of other places around in 6. Hanbin for one, preferred the station than staying at home – so did a lot of other people.

“Hey knucklehead,” someone called upon Hanbin’s arrival, the black-haired male looked around and spotted the man with ease. Not that Junhoe had tried to cover himself or hide in any way. That would’ve defeated the purpose of greeting Hanbin.

“I see you managed to use that empty head of yours to arrive early for once,” Hanbin teased back and clapped Junhoe’s outstretched hand and met him in a half-hug. The male was greasy and oily, but it was to be expected. Junhoe was the finest mechanist on their team and was more often covered in oil and grease than he wasn’t.  


“That’s more than I could say to you,” Junhoe replied effortlessly – their banter than had gone on for years now. Junhoe was the only one Hanbin was really on speaking terms with, Hanbin preferred staying by himself. He’d die alone, grey and old that way his mother would always claim, but Hanbin didn’t care. He took no interest in anyone and didn’t care much about anything else than surviving until the next day. The attitude was quite common all over Panem. With the exception of Capitol, of course.

“You wish you were half as smart as me,” Hanbin said, mostly just to annoy Junhoe, and the older replied by hitting him in the rib with his elbow, not too hard, but definitely with enough force for it to be felt.

“I definitely don’t wish I had half your ego, that’s for sure,” Junhoe shot back as they walked into the station. They were quick to begin their job, Junhoe was more on the machinery side of the station. The guy was seriously on a different level when it came to parts and motors. He could easily turn trash into a high-functional motor from District 3. He was excellent at what he did, but his skills lied in motors. Junhoe wasn’t exactly the brightest bulb in the chandelier. Hanbin was decent with machines, but nowhere near were Junhoe was, and he’d never be. He was sure. The two had very different jobs, while Junhoe specialized in one thing Hanbin was more of a Jack of all trades, master of none. They went separate ways, Junhoe was immediately under the train fixing some kind of wires and pipes, Hanbin was lifting heavy machinery, loading and unloading trains. He was where he saw the need but was quickly placed with the task of washing a train. He always got that task, it seemed like a lot of the people on the station in 6 still saw him as that scrawny kid.

It was ironic, Hanbin was cleaning the train that might send him away to the bloodbath. The train needed to be spotless, still Hanbin couldn’t think of it as anything but a carriage to certain death. He’d cleaned multiple trains and was were efficient in doing so. The train was clean within two hours – maybe the second reason Hanbin always was tasked with cleaning. The other guys spent half a day up to a day to finish cleaning it.

“Kim,” someone called as Hanbin was he was drying off. The black-haired male turned towards the voice and was met with Andy; one of the older guys. He’d been working here since Hanbin began, probably been working here since Hanbin had been born. “The train needs fixing, wagon three has some loose wires,” Andy continued. They always talked like this to Hanbin, they ordered him around and didn’t bother making small talk. The only one who did was Junhoe.  
“Why can’t Junhoe?” Hanbin asked but wasn’t that interested. He’d already gathered his things and was on his way to find some tools.

“Still working on the motor, he needed to make the entire thing apart. Now get started, I don’t want those damn peacekeepers beating my ass for not doing the job,” he shooed Hanbin off – and Hanbin was glad to be shooed away. He’d never taken much linking to the older man, hadn’t with most the guys here, but Andy was maybe his least favourite. He was bossy, dominant – despite having any leader role, or being much of a threat. He was more muscular than Hanbin, but Hanbin could finish him off if shove came to push. Hanbin was flexible enough to move around Andy’s heavy punches, and he had a powerful right hook. The two had been in fights before, so Hanbin would know. Andy had given him bruises that lasted for weeks, and a black eye, but Hanbin had been seconds from breaking the man’s arm. Andy was lucky Junhoe had pulled him off before any peacekeeper saw their little fight. 

Without any trouble, Hanbin gathered a belt with different tools and took a flashlight with him. He silently cursed Jeff for taking the last headlight – he saw the man in action – but didn’t dwell on the matter before he silently rolled under wagon three to fix the loose wires. He cursed again, this time out loud when he was stuck with a flashlight and not a headlight, but Hanbin tried not to dwell on it. Hopefully, he’d be able to fix it before it grew too infuriating. It didn’t take much time, well it wouldn’t in theory. Junhoe would’ve done it in five minutes, Hanbin in about twenty. Andy would’ve done it in about an hour.

He ended up actually spending half an hour because he needed to adjust that damn flashlight. It would’ve been easier if he’d have a flashlight instead of having the flashlight in his mouth. It didn’t take too much time though; it was all the same either way. He was spending the same amount of time here, either way, one task taking a bit longer time than another didn’t mean much in the long run.

Junhoe and Hanbin spent the lunch break together. Like they always did. The lunch wasn’t much, usually scrapped together leftover’s to be a miserable lunch, but it was food. It was a whole lot more than many people in 6 could say. District 6 wasn’t the poorest district in Panem, and most people were middle class, but they still had Morphlings and general homelessness. They had their decent amount of rich people, and general upper-class, but the lower-class always outweighed the upper-class in number. They were seated on a bench alone, the only view they had was the empty tracks and the abandoned concrete station. Sometimes, but rarely, a train would pass by, but it usually remained dead quiet if the two of them didn’t talk.

“Tomorrow’s The Reaping,” Junhoe began as if the two didn’t know that already. It was the dreadful day endless mothers and fathers counted down to and couldn’t help but fear. Hanbin hated The Reaping, he’d been safe so far, but that didn’t secure his safety. He hated nausea and nervousness that always followed with the day. He hated the nervousness, but he dreaded the relief. The relief of knowing it wasn’t him. It was what the Capitol wanted. That they turned on each other. That is a sick way one would be happy to see other kids die, just because it wasn’t yourself or your own kids.

“Yeah,” Hanbin said, and a long dreadful sigh followed the word. “It’ll be our last one,” Hanbin said, and Junhoe nodded. That, of course, wasn’t an insurance, they weren’t safe until the male representant of district 6 was chosen, and they knew it wasn’t one of them.

“How many times is your name entered?” Junhoe asked, it was a seemingly innocent question, but it wasn’t. The question translated to; how likely is it for the male’s name to be yours? What’s your odds of dying?

“35,” Hanbin muttered. He’d signed up for tesserae the day he turned 12 to get food rationing for himself, his mom, dad and little sister. Over the course of seven years, and the additional entry every year that left him with a total of 35 entries. The probability of it being Hanbin wasn’t high, but high enough. “What about you?”  


“28,” Junhoe answered. Junhoe was an only child, he only provided food rationing for himself and parents, thus leaving him with a smaller number. Usually, 35 and 28 wasn’t too far off, but when it came to The Reaping, one note could mean the difference between life and death. “Just one more time, we’ll just endure it for one more time before it’s over.” The way Junhoe talked about it made it seem like they’d be free after this. When they finished The Reaping and hopefully survived, they join hands and sing: free, free at last!

They wouldn’t. They’d just turn one slavery into another. Sure, the threat of dying in an arena was gone, but the threat of starvation and homelessness were significantly higher. They could never be free in a district like 6, they’d never be free in a system like this, they’d just be more or less oppressed.  
“You know in Russian roulette, if you keep spinning the cylinder, on the seventh try your chance of surviving is as low as 27,9 per cent. Meaning the odds of dying is much higher than living to tell the tale,” Hanbin said, he didn’t know if he meant it as encouraging words or depressing. He didn’t even know why he bothered bringing it up, the games and Russian roulette was nothing alike.

Junhoe voiced his thoughts. “Well, luckily were not play Russian roulette.” The dark-brown male sighed, there wasn’t really anything joyful about the games. “I doubt math will help you in the games anyway,” Junhoe followed up, this time with a teasing tone, trying to lighten the mood.

“Not to you, of course,” Hanbin replied instantly, “you can’t even count to twenty-four.”

“I definitely can,” Junhoe argued back and threw the remainder of his sandwich at Hanbin who blocked it just a little too late. 

“You thought twenty-ten followed after twenty-nine,” Hanbin managed to get out before he started to burst into laughter.

“Oh, piss off, I was five,” Junhoe said. He’d throw another sandwich if he had one. Hanbin successfully managed to dodge an incoming hit.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun broke through the thick black blinders which were _supposed_ to keep the sun out, they did a poor job, but Hanbin couldn’t really blame them either. He’d traded his portions to get them, but at least it was better than having to cover the window up with his dad’s jacket which he did before getting the blinders. They weren’t poor, they were far better off than a lot of people in his district, and 6, in general, wasn’t the poorest district – but times could get though. He was sure that most people, except maybe those from Career districts, could relate. The warmth from his duvet seemed suddenly much colder and the room didn’t feel as cold as he first had assumed. The weather lately had been hot, which could be both good and bad. Good for the crop, bad for long days working in the sun.  


He got out with little hesitation, Hanbin was used to get up early at the crack of dawn. Today, however, he didn’t need to, and Hanbin felt more rested than he had in a long while. All of that didn’t mean much though, today was The Reaping. Hanbin would’ve rather gotten up at five or even four if that meant he didn’t have to participate in The Reaping. Sadly, that wasn’t how the world worked. Hanbin could wish though but wishing did very little for his situation. His brown eyes eyed the tight dark clothes he usually wore but darted away from them. He’d be back in them tomorrow, hopefully, but not today. 

The Capitol acted like The Reaping was a special event, it was, but not that kind of event worth dressing up for. Yet, it was expected no less than to have on your best clothes for this day. Hanbin being no exception, he was supposed to wear a suit. The dark, tight clothes gave more comfort than the itchy suit did, but he’d just have to endure for a day. Just this day, and then it would be over – no more suit. No more reaping, no more having to wish and pray his way out of this. Hanbin never wanted kids, he didn’t want to bring his kids into a system like this, into a district like 6. No, after today Hanbin was free.

He walked out of the small bedroom and was met with his parents, they both smiled sadly at him, before their brown eyes darted away from him. It was almost like they knew something he didn’t know. Of course, they didn’t but all parents had it like this. So, he assumed anyways. No one wanted to see their child die, and it was even worse having it broadcasted like sick entertainment for the rich and wealthy. For everyone, it was mandatory torture.

“Good morning,” Hanbin greeted before he sat down, he smiled sweetly at his little sister. Thankfully, she was too young to participate in the games for now. For now, it seemed to be hanging the air. It would be Hanbin’s last year, but soon enough they’d have to endure it all over again with his sister. Hanbin felt bad for it, but it wasn’t like he could do anything about it. He certainly could stop the games, and he could force his sister to grow or stop her from growing – so he was left with the worst imaginable choice. Doing nothing.

“Nothing is good about this morning,” his mother mumbled, Hanbin saw that she made sure Hanbyul hadn’t caught a word of that. Hanbin gripped her hand slightly and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“It’s my last time,” Hanbin stated, though the fact did little to calm him or his mother down. There was this unsaid statement hanging in the air, he’d survived all the years up until now, what was the odds of him being chosen now? Hanbin just had to hope the odds were in his favour. The saying made Hanbin cringe and his stuffed the bread in his mouth. He didn’t want to think about it. His mother squeezed his hand back, but she didn’t reply. Hanbin wasn’t sure if it was for his sake, her own or Hanbyul’s.

“The suit,” his father began, Hanbin’s eyes grazed his father, but he quickly diverted his eyes to something else. He hated looking his father in the eyes, they had this pained look that never disappeared. Looking into his father’s russet brown always reminded Hanbin were he was, and where he came from. It always reminded him of how locked he was in his situation. That no matter what Hanbin did, he’d _always_ be in District 6 working with trains if he didn’t end up at The Hoard. “It’s ready for you,” his father continued. He always spoke like that, short, impersonal, like he was seconds from telling Hanbin bad news. In a district like 6, in a home-like theirs, he almost always was.

His dad used to be different, used to be _happy_ or so Hanbin liked to imagine. Sadly, fate had ruled cruelly over the Kim family. In the age of 19, his dad lost his brother to the games. Just one year too old to volunteer, the loss of Minjoon had left him devastated, and he’d never been the same after. So, Hanbin was told by the people who knew his father.

“Thanks,” Hanbin replied before he got up again, showing the last piece of bread in his mouth before he excused himself. It felt so impersonal, like the man in front of him despite all his similarities and the way he’d always been here throughout Hanbin’s wasn’t his father? Not that Hanbin had a good replacement for him, he just felt … fatherless, almost like an orphan. He loved his family and knew they loved him, but he couldn’t feel a strong connection to them either?  
Maybe Hanbin had distanced himself from his family as much as his family had drifted away from him?

Hanbin couldn’t blame them, couldn’t blame himself. It had happened a long time ago, and now it felt surreal to act like a normal family. He didn’t blame them for drifting apart, as much as he didn’t blame himself – it had probably been destined to be like that before he got a job at 13 before Hanbyul was born before his father became a father since he watched his brother die live broadcasted. Or maybe it happened when the districts lost the war, and 6 became 6. Not the sixth district, but the district of poor and rich, the district of powerless people, losers and very few winners. A district without future, and only good for something if it came to trains. It probably happened then. Having a dysfunctional family wasn’t strange, it was probably the norm in 6. Some were luckier to have a proper family, but most people carried luggage. 

Hanbin took a short shower, trying to be quick with the hot water, they didn’t have unlimited resources of hot water. The most important thing was getting the oil grease and dirt off his body, along with the smell of sweat and gasoline. Within minutes Hanbin was out the poor shower and tried to dry himself. The shower had seen better days, but so had the rest of their house and District 6 for that matter. He dressed quickly in the black suit that his father had laid out for him. It was plain black with a white shirt. Hanbin knew by looking at it, that this was one of his father’s old suits. Probably worn last at his father’s last reaping. His uncle, Minjoon, would’ve worn it haven’t it been for … his early death.

“Let me tie it for you,” his father began as he saw Hanbin struggling with the tie. His father’s shaky hands grabbed the fabric tie and set to work. Hanbin’s brown eyes were mesmerised as he looked down at his father’s old hands. The veins were visible, and Hanbin could see the beginning of wrinkles, for a moment his dad just looked like some weak old man. He wasn’t very old, becoming a father at an early age, but the sadness had worn down his youth. “There you go,” his father mumbled slightly as he straightened it.

“Thanks,” Hanbin found himself mumbling. He wanted to follow up with something, something to soothe the pain in his father’s eyes, something to lighten the mood, but promises of being back to dinner fell short. “I’ll talk to you later,” Hanbin settled on instead, it seemed safer than promising to come back. He couldn’t make such promises. 

On his way out the door he stopped by Hanbyul, she was ten. Too young to take a part of this terror, but soon old enough to be forced. Hanbin smiled sweetly at her, he loved her so much. Cherished her above anything else, probably. 

“Binnie, do you wanna play?” she asked and grinned at him, he couldn’t keep himself from grinning back.

“Can’t right now,” he began and tried not to let her see that the smile was fake. He couldn’t let her peak behind his mask. “But I promise I’ll do t later, okay?” He ruffled her black locks as she nodded, he could hear the whistle in the distance, it was time to go. In minutes he’d know if it was him or not. He was minutes from freedom or certain death, the thought was exhilarating in away. With a shaky breath he bid the last goodbye before he stepped out on the front porch and away from his neighbourhood.

Hanbin walked the familiar way to the main square, meeting Junhoe on his way. The other smiled slightly, but Hanbin could see it was forced.

“Hey,” Hanbin greeted, he wanted to continue, but again his words fell short.

“Hey,” Junhoe greeted back, he didn’t sound like his usual happy-go-lucky self. Not that Hanbin could blame him, he too couldn’t muster up any joy. Junhoe was usually too happy for his own good, Hanbin had never understood how he could be as happy when they were living in 6, but Junhoe didn’t seem to let that stop him. He was an overall goofball, and people liked Junhoe for that. At the train station, people liked him not only because he was good at his job, but also because he was kind. The Junhoe Hanbin usually knew seemed to be replaced with a more depressing version today.

Hanbin wanted to say something to lighten the mood, but he didn’t feel smart enough to come up with anything. A long sigh left his lips and he could hear the whistle blow another time. It would soon begin.

“What if I end up in the” Junhoe began panicked but paused for a second, he didn’t want to say it. “The games,” he muttered lowly.

“C’mon June,” Hanbin forced a big smile to grace his features, “the chance of it being you are around 0,0003 per cent, I think you’re good.” Junhoe gave a shaky nod, and a half-hearted smile, it didn’t reach his eyes at all.

“And what’s the chance of it being you?” the other male asked, Hanbin could see him shake from nervousness in his side-eye but ignored it. They couldn’t be late. Not today. The peacekeepers would probably kill them or punish them severely.

“0,0004,” Hanbin muttered, it wasn’t _a lot_ but seven notes could easily be the difference between being the male representant from District 6 and not.  
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Junhoe, but continued, when Hanbin gave him signs to elaborate. “About the Russian roulette, the chance is higher than ever, isn’t it?” Though Junhoe’s words were true, Hanbin didn’t want his friend to worry.

“But this isn’t Russian roulette, you said it yourself,” Hanbin reminded him, “there are more factors to this equation.” Junhoe hummed, but he didn’t seem satisfied. They couldn’t be, not until they were safe. If they ended up safe. Hanbin tried to remind himself that he still didn’t know if he was safe or not. Within minutes they were at the main square, the line was long, but it would move rather quickly, Hanbin knew that. He’d gone through this six times already; he definitely should know. Before he knew it, it was his turn, Hanbin gave Junhoe’s hand a reassuring squeeze before he gave his name and allowed them to prick his finger for a little blond. He flinched slightly when the needle pricked his finger, but it was over before he knew it, and he has pushed away and into the crowd. Hanbin found his age group fairly easy at the back and stood beside them with no problems, Junhoe joining him shortly after.

“You okay?” Hanbin whispered so low it almost seemed like he just moved his lips. Junhoe nodded despite it being a lie. Hanbin could read him easily, Junhoe was scared. Not that he wasn’t afraid of himself. He could feel the adrenaline flow through his veins, and his heart was beating so loudly he was sure that everyone could hear it.

The nausea was finally flowing over him, Hanbin felt like throwing up his small breakfast. Like he did every year. The bad thoughts always got to him minutes before it all began, he’d been safe until now, but what promised that he’d continue to be safe? What if it was some curse that ran in the family first his uncle and now him. Was there a possibility that Hanbin could escape this? And if he did would it even be worth it?

He could feel his hands grow sweaty, and despite not moving his breath started to heave. Oh God, this was finally happening. The day of his last Reaping was here, Hanbin could feel his heart beated faster than ever. When would this end? Seconds seemed like minutes, and minutes seemed like literal hours. 

Three people entered on the stage, and the already quiet crowd grew silent. Hanbin was almost sure that even dead people made more sound than this. Hanbin could recognize every person on the stage. It was the mayor; a fat man growing balder every year. There was no hiding that the man had money, it was visible in his clothes, his fat and the way he carried himself. How could he be mayor of a district, sitting on a huge fortune when people were starving?

The man next to him seemed to slip off the chair, he was younger and messier. His name was Clarence. Winner of the 40th Hunger Games. He was dressed in black, and although his clothes were expensive Hanbin was sure he hadn’t changed his clothing in the last couple of days. His brown hair was unkempt and long, covering his eyes slightly, but not enough to hide his hazy stare. Poor Clarence was so traumatized after the games he slowly became a Morphling. The last person was the escort from Capitol, Lynnon, she was the one to draw District 6’s tributes and escort them to The Capitol. A slight shiver escaped down Hanbin’s spine. He hated the sight. What he hated more was the mayor’s annual speech, it was plain boring, and he tuned it out. Only tuning when he heard the short list of District 6’s past winners. Seven in total, some was dead, some were more unstable than Clarence. It said a lot about 6’s winners when Clarence, a drug addict, was the best mentor they could offer.

“Welcome, welcome, everybody,” Lynnon in such a chirpy voice Hanbin swore she had to greet something entirely else than an upcoming bloodbath. Lynnon was a very short woman, but her high heels gave her a couple of inches. She was wearing a hideous light blue dress, that made an almost U form at the bottom, her hair was a matching blue colour – although Hanbin was sure it was a wig, she make was matching her dress. Her hair was long and reached her waist easily, in her hair she had kind of blue feather accessories. “Welcome to the 55th Reaping of the Hunger Games,” she said again with so much overwhelming positivity that Hanbin was certain she was a game show host and not about to sentence two teens to their death.

She talked for a while, but Hanbin toned it out he didn’t want to know about what “an honour” it was to fight and die in the games. It wasn’t. They all knew it was a way for The Capitol to oppress the districts so they couldn’t rebel. There was no need to sugar-coat it.

“As usual,” Lynnon started, or continued, Hanbin didn’t know, “ladies first.” She tiptoed over to a glass bowl with hundreds of thousands girls’ names on them. A poor soul would get picked and sent to certain death. She stuck her pale white hand in the bowl and rustled around for a while, she seemed to have settled on a note and tiptoed back to the microphone. Everyone was watching in fear and awe, Hanbin could feel the tension as if it was an actual object. He swallowed loudly and looked at the girl’s group. God, as long as it wasn’t a too young girl.

That kind of mindset was sick, and it disgusted even himself. They were all too young! But that fact alone wasn’t enough to save innocent souls.  
“Helen Ruark!” Lynnon called out as she scanned the crowd. “Helen, where are you, sweetheart, come up here.” No one was moving, but it seemed like everyone was starting to look at this young blond girl. Slowly with shaking legs she started to move towards the stage. Her face lost its colour, and Hanbin could see the tears that were already building up. The poor girl was going to die, they all knew it. Even she knew it. Hanbin could feel a bitter taste in his mouth as he watched the scene. This was sick, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

“Helen Ruark everyone!” Lynnon called as Helen stood by her side. Helen couldn’t be more than fourteen years old. Hanbin had never seen her before, but he still felt for her. He felt for every tribute he’d seen sent away; everyone he’d been forced to watch dies. He felt for them all.

“And now,” Lynnon announced, “for the boys.” She went for the other glass bowl on the other side of the scene and scanned the white notes before she chose one on the top. Within seconds she was back to the microphone, and she flashed a sick smile before she opened the note. Hanbin’s heart was beating faster than ever, his breath was heaving again. Oh, God. What if it was Junhoe? _Please don’t let it be Junhoe._

“And the male tribute for District 6 is,” she dragged out, Hanbin didn’t dare breath, didn’t dare think. He was paralyzed for only a second. “Kim Hanbin,” she called out.

Oh, God.

Oh fuck.

It was him.

“No,” he heard Junhoe faintly whisper beside him, but it all passed him by. The only thing he could think of was that he too was going to die. 

Slowly, painfully slow, he walked towards the stage, and the boys moved to let him through. Some gave him sympathetic looks and painful smiles, but Hanbin could also sense a feeling of relief, they were happy that it had been him and not them. Hanbin couldn’t blame them, he’d felt the same six years in a row. He reached the stage faster than he’d like, but even a million years wouldn’t have been enough time. How could he prevent the inevitable? That’s right, he couldn’t. Lynnon shot him a smile, but he couldn’t find it in him to return in him.

The shock was still running through his body. In a way, he couldn’t believe this was real. Would Hanbin wake up sweaty in his bed from this nightmare, or was this the cruel reality?

“Ladies and gentlemen, the tributes from District 6,” Lynnon announced, and as she said those familiar words. It really hit him; the shock must’ve run over. He was _the male tribute_. He was going to die. Oh, God. Maybe there was a curse in the Kim family?

The sun broke to the white clouds and lit up the district in a beautiful way, but Hanbin couldn’t care. All he managed to think about was that this was probably his last time seeing 6. Maybe one of the last times he saw the sun. Was his life destined to be this short? Maybe his time was ticking out? Maybe it had been doing that for a long time, but Hanbin just noticed now? Maybe the sand was filling up the bottom half of the hourglass, and Hanbin was drowning in the sand? However, maybe, just maybe, he could keep his head above, keep berating and outlive the running sand and end up victorious.

“And may the odds be ever in your favour,” Lynnon ended. Hanbin could make the odds in his favour. He didn’t know how, but he’d just have to do it one way or another.


	3. Chapter 3

Adrenaline was flowing through Hanbin’s body, and his leg kept bouncing up at down. His hands grew clammy, but his breath had finally calmed down. Hanbin’s brown eyes looked around the small cramped room, it wasn’t much – nothing was hanging on the walls to give something interesting to look at. There was a huge window behind him, but Hanbin didn’t want to look out, he knew what sight would greet him. The crowd that starting to retreat home, and he’d be reminded once again of his fate.

His brown eyes looked around the room to desperately find something to settle his gaze on. He found nothing, nothing of interest at least. He hated the entire theme that was going on in the room, clearly train inspired. There was a huge painting of an old Capitol train. Hanbin had seen them, but they were so old they usually just carried coal or was sent there for reparation. No one fixed trains like Junhoe did. In the painting, there were both women and men who reached after the train and smiled. It looked like an old propaganda poster Hanbin had seen in an old book. It had been an illegal book, and he’d only seen it once. The boy who had it, Jinhwan, had burnt it in fear of getting caught with it.

Hanbin didn’t want to look at it, it seemed so fake. No one looked that happy when they saw trains, and it didn’t inspire Hanbin to do anything. He didn’t want to work harder or better, he just wanted to get out of this system. It was wrong that they were punished for thing generations before he was involved in. People took choices for Hanbin’s life, and he had no say in it, he just had to bey the law or die. The brown eyes settled on the floor again as his body kept shaking, he was going to die, he realised. The odds for Hanbin dying was huge, and the chance of surviving was minimal. He wasn’t going to survive this, he knew – but still felt so bloody unfair. 

The depressing train of thoughts was disturbed by the creaking of the door before it was banged open with a huge crash. Outside stood his family along with a peacekeeper who pushed them inside. “You have three minutes,” he warned before he shut the door completely. Hanbin hugged his parents immediately and ignored the fact that his mother was crying. His father was standing still, Hanbin could see the terror in his eyes. The loss, the fear. That disbelief that fate would be so cruel to him again, he’d lost his brother and now he’d be forced to watch his son die. He was probably reliving his worst nightmares.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said with a hushed voice, but he didn’t believe it himself. “I’m smart, right?” Hanbin asked for validation as he squeezed Hanbyul’s hand. She was too young to lose a brother but old enough to realise what was happening right now. This would be his last words with his family he realised. The thought alone sent shivers down his spine in all the wrong ways.

“No Binnie!” She screamed before her face got tearstained, “you can’t go! You have to stay here!” She cried, and Hanbin bowed down to embrace her and lifted her up.  
“It’s going to be okay,” he said once again. If he said it enough times, would he believe it? “I’m smart, maybe I can outsmart the others long enough to win?” It wouldn’t be a good strategy, it was hardly a strategy, but it was all Hanbin had.

“The others have an advantage,” his father said dejected, “you don’t have brute strength or know any weaponry.” His father, of course, wanted Hanbin to survive, but at the same time, he was stating facts. What did Hanbin have to offer that would guarantee him a chance of winning?

“None of that matters if they walk into a trap,” Hanbin didn’t let Hanbyul out of his grasp but shifted her weight so he could give his father a reassuring squeeze on his shoulder. He just needed them to believe, and if they couldn’t then fake it. For his own sake, but more importantly for Hanbyul’s. Everything came second to her. Hanbin didn’t care much for his own death, there wasn’t much to live for in 6, but he couldn’t let Hanbyul go through that. He had to try, try to win for her.  
His family stayed silent as they all clung to Hanbin, afraid that if they didn’t he’d disappear right through their hands. He could hear both Hanbyul and his mother’s cries, but he tried to calm them. His chances of death were huge, he had a much higher chance of dying than surviving. But he wasn’t dead yet, he could maybe survive. There was a chance, as long as she breathed he was alive, and if kept breathing long enough, he’d win. It was just a matter of strategy and skill more than strength and weapons. Sure, they played a huge part, but Hanbin was convinced he could win by playing smart – he’d seen several tributes do so. Why couldn’t he?

“Hey, it’s going to be fine,” Hanbin repeated once again, “people like an underdog. If I play it smart I might be able to survive long enough to get some sponsors. Long enough to have a fan base that root’s for me, and if they do the game makers will have to try to make me survive, right? We’ve seen it before? Remember five years ago, when the guy from twelve won? He didn’t have any skill or strength, but he was smart. And so am I. I’ll survive, I promise you.” The second Hanbin’s rant was over the door was ripped over by the same peacekeeper violently.

“Time’s up,” he said and started to pull his father out by the arm.

“Good luck,” his mother said and kissed his cheek before she too was ripped out of the room.

“No!” Hanbyul’s screamed and resisted as the peacekeeper ripped her out of Hanbin’s grasp. “No! Binnie!” She screamed again before the door was shut again. He could hear the desperate cries from his family outside the door until they got fainter before they disappeared entirely. Was this his last meeting with his family? Hanbin couldn’t shake off an anxious feeling that had appeared after the door was shut. He didn’t want to think about it in case this was his last meeting with his beloved family.

He could feel the tears before they appeared, and despite a desperate attempt at removing them, the tears wouldn’t obey him. Slowly tears streamed down his face, what kind of reaction was this? He didn’t want to cry! Yet he wept like a baby. Was this the last time he saw his family? Hanbin didn’t want to think of it, yet he was unable to stop the stream of tears from running down his face. _Fuck_ , this was so hard.

He couldn’t believe this was the last time he saw his family. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t ready to say goodbye. The goodbye they’d said wasn’t a proper one. Hanbin needed a proper goodbye, but he’d never get one. Goddamn it, he was too young. Too young to be sent off to an arena. And for what? For what exactly? Nothing of importance, nothing that would never matter. Hanbin would die from a hopeless reason – and Hanbyul would never have a big brother because of something meaningless.

Was yesterday his last day at work? Was this morning the last time he saw the smile of Hanbyul? It felt like he was already forgetting the little things even if he hadn’t left the district. It felt like he was reaching after old memories because he’d never had the chance to make new ones. The tears kept streaming down his face, and even if Hanbin tried to wipe them away it was to no avail. He was crying, even if he tried to play strong. A loud sob left his mouth, and he felt ashamed. He was supposed to be strong for himself and his family, but he couldn’t keep it up. Here he was breaking down like three-year-old, it was pathetic. Hanbin tried to tell himself that he’d be just fine, but he couldn’t believe his own bad lies.

He’d never see his childhood home again. He chased the memory down with a shot of truth, yesterday had been his last day of temporary bliss. He was never going back. He knew that, and the thought was unbearable. Desperately he tried to drown the thoughts out like he always did, but he just _couldn’t._ He was a man on his deathbed, but Hanbin still had so much to live for – this wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he was doomed to die, just because of the games, just because of his family and the district he came from. It was all so unfair.

It was so unfair that Hanbin would end up like a ghost lingering in his parents’ past. A burden never leaving Hanbyul’s shoulders. He’d be a faint memory in not long – the thought scared him and saddened him even more. His dreams would be left behind the very moment he left the district. He’d never see Hanbyul grow up, she was going to age – but without Hanbin. She’d grow up oblivious to the fact that would always be a part missing. Would she even remember Hanbin, or would he just be a faint memory? She was going to age – and he wouldn’t be there to guide her, help her. His parents would watch him die but be forced to live on. His father had already lost someone, and he’d be forced to relive his worst memories and make memories that were equally torture. Would his parents even financially recover with the loss of Hanbin? God, what if they ended up at The Hoard?

The worst thing was that Hanbyul would grow up, with faint memories of her older brother, but know _exactly_ how her older brother died. He didn’t want to be remembered like that. He didn’t want his last memories of his family be his father’s sad eyes, his mother’s teary eyes and sad smile, Hanbyul’s cries – but they were. His last moments in his home would always be like this, his sad family and his own breakdown. Hanbin had never dreamed of a happy life in 6, he’d never been foolish enough to do so. But he’d always wanted a life where he was content. He knew he’d never have the privilege to be happy, but was a life where he was satisfied too much to ask for?

A long sigh escaped his mouth as he wiped his teary face. His eyes were probably red and puffy, it was most likely obvious that he had cried, but Hanbin saw no reason to hide it anymore. He’d die anyway. The second Lynnon had called his name it was over and out for him. Hanbin could never win against the careers. His hands covered his face for just a little while allowing him to hide from the dark reality, and escape for just a little while. It wasn’t much but it allowed Hanbin a little comfort, for just a brief while. He knew his situation wouldn’t disappear, but it wasn’t the point either – he just needed space. Space to breathe, so he maybe could come to terms with it. He hadn’t lost yet; his chances of winning were slim – but he could try. He just had to pull together first. At least, that’s what he told himself, but he ended up crying again.

He took a long breath. He could do this. At least pretend he could in front of the cameras. What he did when he was alone was another thing, but he needed to be calm first. Hanbin could fake it until he made it, but then he needed to be calm. He took another breath and felt his body calm down. His muscles weren’t as tense as he took another breath. Hanbin didn’t believe in himself, not really, but he could fake that. Fake arrogance, so The Capitol would believe in him. If they believed in him, the chance of surviving was a lot higher. He didn’t faith in himself, he just needed to fake it long enough.

For a second was dead silent, he couldn’t even his small huffs, and his crying had stopped. Until he heard motion outside the door, and the door slowly creaking up as if the person was unsure before the door was banged up harshly. Outside was Junhoe. A small smile made its way to his face, but Hanbin could see that it was fake. Obviously, his best friend wouldn’t greet him with a smile when they both knew he was doomed.

“Oh, Hanbin,” was the only thing Junhoe said before he embraced his best friend. Was his crying that obvious, or was he just heartbroken that his friend was the one that was chosen to represent District 6? Hanbin couldn’t tell, but returned the hug, nonetheless.

“Kinda ironic, right?” Hanbin laughed a burst of forced laughter, desperately trying to lighten the mood, with no avail.

“Hush!” Junhoe started and made a motion for Hanbin to stay quiet. “I don’t want to hear a joke, I’m not in the mood. But listen Hanbin, please,” Junhoe begged, and Hanbin couldn’t do anything but obey. For not his own sake, then for Junhoe’s. “You are smarter than them-…”

“You don’t know that,” Hanbin started to argue, but Junhoe wasn’t having any of it.

“You are,” he insisted. “You’re smart, I’ve seen it my entire life, you’re a lot smarter than me, and your big brain is wasted in the train station, and you know it. You’re smart and you’re fast. You’re not the strongest and not the best with weapons, but that doesn’t matter. You can outsmart them. What are they going to do with all of their strengths and weapons if you lure them into a trap?” Junhoe continued.

“We have no guarantee that I can actually pull that off,” Hanbin muttered and looked at the floor again, afraid of disappointing Junhoe.

“Hanbin, have some confidence! We’ve seen it before the underdog can win, not because they’re good at hiding or because of their poor background, but because they’re smart. When a person like you, a genius, enters the arena strength doesn’t matter. This is the survival of the fittest, and brute strength isn’t always an advantage, but a burden. Hanbin, I believe in you, I think you can do this, but you’ll have to believe it too,” Junhoe finished his long rant. The rant actually made Hanbin feel better. He wished he could take Junhoe with him for moral support. 

“I wish I could take you with me,” Hanbin said, and hugged his best friend again, and Junhoe returned the embrace immediately. “I’m going to miss you.”

“No, don’t say stuff like that, I’ll watch you on the arena, and I can’t wait for you to come back a victor,” Junhoe said and smiled slightly.

“You don’t know if I’ll-…” Hanbin began, but Junhoe wouldn’t let him finish. They ended the embrace so Junhoe could look him in the eyes so Hanbin could see how serious he was.

“I think you have shot, but how you make it depends on you. Now, don’t fuck it up, I want my best friend back alive,” Junhoe said and smiled sadly. Hanbin could see the tears building up in his eyes, but Junhoe ignored it as if it wasn’t happening right now. “Here,” he said and slid off a ring on his finger, it was a simple silver ring, Junhoe’s family ring. “You’re allowed to have a token to remind you of home, right? When you’re in doubt look at it and remember what I said, okay? Return home safe, please,” Junhoe begged him.

“June, I can’t take your family ring,” Hanbin started to decline it, but Junhoe wasn’t having any of it.

“I want you to have it,” he said and forced it into Hanbin’s hands. As he did the door opened again rather harshly, and the peacekeeper showed. He didn’t say anything, but they both knew the time was up. “Good luck, and I’ll see you soon,” Junhoe promised before he was out of the door. Hanbin stood for a second and looked at the door longingly. He wished he could run after Junhoe, just so he could have him there for a few minutes, but he was gone. Gone forever? Junhoe’s presence was calming, but now that he was gone, all those dark thoughts returned. Would Hanbin ever live up to the promise of seeing Junhoe again? He’d at least die trying, quite literally. He looked down at the cold sliver ring and smiled a small, nearly invisible, smile. He’d didn’t know if it was of pain or it was a slight hope. Hanbin wasn’t sure, but he took the words Junhoe had said to heart. He had a chance to win, he just had to believe it himself. As he slid on the ring on his index finger he realised, nothing would ever be the same.

* * *

No one else came to visit Hanbin, but he hadn’t expected it either. He spent a few minutes alone in the room and collected his thoughts, calmed himself down – and erased the previous trails that he’d been crying. A peacekeeper barged into the room not much after and was supposed to escort Hanbin to the train that was supposed to send him away. Would the train serve as his death carriage or his carriage to success and fame? The boy didn’t know, but he didn’t want to think of it either.

On his way out he met Helen, the female tribute from District 6. She was still crying, well Hanbin assumed so. Her eyes weren’t leaving the ground, and her entire body seemed to be shaking, but Hanbin could just see her blond hair shake as if she was crying. He’d seen the look on Hanbyul before and recognized it immediately. His theories turned true when he passed her and heard a sniffle, Hanbin felt bad for her, but the sympathy didn’t go far. They were stuck in the same situation, and he wouldn’t blink or hesitate if killing her meant he could go home.

How sick wasn’t that? Was this his inner nature and survival instinct was already taking over? Hanbin wouldn’t have thought that he’d see himself following the same pattern as he’d seen in previous games, but here he was, not even hesitating that his life was more valuable than Helen’s. The thought disgusted him, it was exactly what The Capitol wanted, and Hanbin hated them for it. Even if it was his own feelings, and thoughts that came up with this idea. The real sinner behind all this was The Capitol, but there was nothing Hanbin could do about it.

He entered the train, and a strange sensation filled his body. He’d spent hours working on these trains, but always on the outside – he’d never been inside. The luxury was overwhelming, Hanbin had never seen such riches – and he knew that this was just one carriage. The carriage was filled with colours and food, everywhere he looked he saw different kinds of food. Foods he’d never seen before, foods he’d only seen the richest from District 6 eat. It was overwhelming, and Hanbin felt the hate for Capitol only grow stronger. How unfair that he had to work every day just to afford to eat, while The Capitol couldn’t care less. This was probably nothing for the capital.

Helen was quick to take a seat, but she didn’t touch any of the food, she just continued the crying session. Hanbin was torn between leaving her alone and if he should tell her something. He looked at her with pity, but no words came to mind. At least no words that would make her feel better, how could Junhoe claim he was a genius when Hanbin had no words to offer Helen?

“Do you know Clarence?” Hanbin asked her but refused to look at her. Instead, his brown eyes swept the carriage once again and tried to settle on something to eat. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he’d do anything for a distraction, and to ignore the awkward silence. “Have you ever met him?” He continued.

She looked at him with teary eyes and shook her head. “No,” she answered bluntly, and Hanbin sighed. He took a green apple and took a bite. Even the damn apples seemed better when they came from The Capitol. 

“Do you want to look for him?” Hanbin offered, but he knew she’d decline straight away. Frankly, he didn’t even want her to come, but he did still ask out of kindness. Maybe the games hadn’t corrupted him entirely yet, he was still capable of pity at least?

“What’s the point?” The blonde asked, and she sighed again and straightened her blue dress. Hanbin didn’t ask why she was so hopeless and just nodded at her. They both knew she’d die, that she’d be one of the firsts to go. Helen didn’t want to speak to her mentor, because she knew there was nothing that Clarence could do to save her, even if he’d been drug-free, Helen was dead meat. She was on her deathbed waiting for the inevitable to come. Hanbin was lying next to her, yet his fate wasn’t settled yet. He left without further comment and felt lighter the second he got away from Helen. She had a heavy aura around her and brought Hanbin’s mood down. He wasn’t happy to be here, obviously, but he saw no point on being depressed either. 

Clarence was easy to spot in the neighbour carriage, it seemed like he’d just got on, and as their gaze met the train started moving. For a second, Clarence just studied Hanbin before he hummed.

“So, you’re the unlucky one?” he said, and Hanbin cringed slightly. What an odd way of greeting the male tribute. Hanbin didn’t know if he appreciated the honesty instead of the bullshit propaganda that The Capitol sent out. About the honour and glory, it was to represent your district. 

“Well,” Hanbin started unsurely, “I assume I am. When are we going to begin mentoring?” Hanbin asked and looked at Clarence. The brunet man didn’t seem anywhere near ready to do any mentoring now or ever, but it didn’t matter – he only had one mentor and the kore tips he got out of Clarence the more likely he was to survive. Clarence had won one and witnessed even more; he was bound to know the ropes.

“Wow, wow. Why so eager to die?” He asked and leaned against the steel wall, Hanbin frowned. The mentor saw his facial expression and laughed slightly. “Okay, tips number one. Prepare for the thought that you’re all alone and that you might die a cruel death all alone. And know that once you enter that arena there’s nothing I can do for you. I might be able to give you some matches or some medicine, but sponsor gifts won’t get you through the arena. If you’re not prepared to fight and get your hands dirty, you’ll die. If you don’t want to kill anyone, do me a favour and jump of that pedestal before the timer’s out. I have no time for weaklings.” Hanbin wanted to wince of the brute honesty but didn’t. Although, Clarence could’ve said that in a nicer way he appreciated the honesty. The mentor was used to this, he’d sent several tributes off to die, and he had no time to play nice.

“So, you think none of us has a winning chance?” Hanbin asked. If Clarence did, Hanbin didn’t know what he’d do. He wasn’t counting on Clarence to be much of a help, but it would be easier to have the mentor on his side, obviously. 

“Would you be a dearie and inject this into my arm?” Clarence asked and ignored the question. He gave Hanbin a needle, he reached out his pale, right arm with a rolled-up sleeve. The arm was full of holes from previous needles around the veins.

“W-what?” Hanbin stuttered out as his brown eyes widened. Did Clarence want him to set a needle with probably some calming drugs into his arm? How could he ask Hanbin this? Hanbin was sure that he’d miss a vein if he tried.

“C’mon boy, I want to get high one last time before the bitch takes all of my shit when we reach Capitol. I’m about to see the 29th tribute under my care die, and I’m not about to that completely sober,” Clarence insisted as he reached his pale arm closer to Hanbin as a sign of saying ‘do it.’

“29th? What about me?” Hanbin asked, still holding the needle without putting it any closer to Clarence’s arm.

“I’m not too sure about you yet,” Clarence shrugged, “you have some potential.” He said it so casually while he took the needle from Hanbin and injected it into his arm without problems. “I’m heading to my room before I get too high, if I were you, I’d check out the other district’s reaping to see your opponents and start eating a shitload of food. I don’t care what the girlie does, she’s going to die anyway.” With that Clarence was gone, already seeming dizzier as the drug was starting to take effect. Hanbin didn’t look after his mentor, instead, he took another bite of the apple. He looked down at the silver ring from Junhoe, he’d try to come back. To keep his promise, and spare Clarence the trauma of watching number thirty die.


	4. Chapter 4

The train was driving fast, but Hanbin could barely feel that they were moving. The train was driving towards The Capitol, and Hanbin wished that the train would stop in the middle of nowhere with technical issues. Just so it could halt the inevitable for a few hours. However, the train was driving without troubles. Hanbin should know that he’d been the one who’d fixed the loose wires a day earlier, he wished he hadn’t done it now. Or that he’d done it half-assed, so the train would stop, even if it was just for a little while. It would dwell his situation, even if it was even just a little bit. But Hanbin wasn’t one to do his job half-assed, he knew those wires were intact and nothing could change that. 

Working at the train station had by no means been Hanbin’s dream job, but he had enjoyed it, nonetheless. It was an escape from his home life, and though Hanbin hadn’t exactly known every person he’d been working it was still – for the most part – an enjoyable workplace. In some ways, maybe his job was his home, and his home was more work? Hanbin wished that the train would have technical issues. If it suddenly did have technical issues, Hanbin would probably volunteer to fix it. It would bring a sensation of comfort, he missed District 6, even if he knew that it was by far the best district. It was still home, though. Sadly, though the train didn’t seem to have any technical issues. District 3 had done a too god job building it, and District 6’s maintenance was perfect to a T.

His brown eyes looked upon the TV screen and watched the other district’s reaping. It started with District 1. The district was beautiful, and the people were almost just as beautiful, but Hanbin couldn’t even care about it. It was unfair how beautiful District 1 was when 6 could never compare. And to The Capitol 6 was remotely lucky, 12 had it much worse, and still, people of District 1 was gloating as they owned the entire world. It wasn’t fair, but Hanbin learnt a long time ago that the world would never be fair. Both the girl and the boy from District 1 volunteered, it was a custom for the Career districts. They were supposed to volunteer because kids from the district trained for years, just so they could volunteer when they were 18 and was brute forces skilled with whatever weaponry. The other districts hardly stood a chance.

The boy, Slate – a blond, muscular boy that could probably kill with his bare hands, and the girl; Ruby a brunette looked like typical tributes for their district. Strong, powerful, confident and arrogant. They were strong, and their looks could probably kill, but their district was rarely very bright. If Hanbin was lucky, he could outsmart them. However, they were powerful candidates and was absolute to be feared. This made them obvious fan favourites. After a marvellous performance for both tributes, the TV was off to show District 2. Another career district. This district, however, was different from District 1. While District 1 cared too much about its appearance and about looking visually pleasing, District 2 was more of a military base.

The girls fought for a while, but a red-haired named Louisa ended up as the female tribute for District 2. She was tall and lean, but at the same time, one could definitely see that she was a strong candidate. She was deadly; however, she wasn’t as eye-capturing. Hanbin had forgotten her as soon as the camera shifted. She was just like everyone else in District 2.

Every person, both adults and kids were ripped and looked like war machines. The tributes even more so. The camera moved away from Louisa when she stopped being interesting and focused in on a tall boy with black long hair with an undercut. Even before the camera focused entirely on him, he was smiling widely, as if he knew that the attention would land on him, and it did. With a loud, confident voice he called out the words that no one would ever dare speak in District 6. “I volunteer as tribute.” Several other boys from District 2 shouted at the same time that they too volunteered, but it was no use. This boy had the audience wrapped around his finger, and no one could take it away from him. He was probably born for this, no other male tribute no matter how deadly, skilled or how much muscles they had could replace the boy with the undercut.

Confidently he walked towards the stage, and with every step he took he revealed his muscular body. He was like a walking weapon, built to kill. When asked what his name was that confident grin only widened. For a split second, he was silent, not because he hesitated, the entire man glowed in his own arrogance. No, he was silent for a while so the audience, for those who were watching could take in his breath-taking beauty. “Kim Jiwon,” he replied with the same loud and clear voice as earlier. The man on the television was definitely a fan favourite. Hanbin almost wanted to quit at the sight of him, he was definitely going to win.

Louisa looked equally strong and arrogant, but she wasn’t as breath-taking. Everyone’s eyes were on the male tribute, because of this she wasn’t going to survive. Now, obviously Louisa had the odds in her favour, she was strong, and from a fan favourite district, she was Career, and was not on the short end. But if it came down to it that it was her against Jiwon, she’d lose. Hanbin didn’t know how he could just tell by looking at her, but he could. 

Jiwon, Hanbin found himself repeating. He’d definitely be a hard one. As of now, it almost seemed like Jiwon would win this year, and Hanbin hadn’t seen the rest of the tributes, he just somehow knew that Jiwon was the strongest candidate. However, Jiwon didn’t seem like a smart guy, he wasn’t stupid – but he seemed like your average smart guy. Hanbin could outsmart him, he’d just have to find a flaw in his armour, and the entire thing would falter to pieces. Jiwon would certainly be a name to remember, and a tribute to watch out for. But he had to watch out for Hanbin too.

The first tribute to actually have some brains was the tribute from District 3, Farren, he was a scrawny kid that probably spent most of his time with the technology at the factory and whatnot District 3 did. He had nothing to do in an arena. The girl beside him was nothing special, Hanbin wouldn’t be surprised if she was one of the first ones to go. Four was another Career district, but probably the weakest Career district, probably because the District ranged from fishers to farmers, and the farmers usually weren’t born and trained to be killers. This year’s bunch seemed lethal enough, both had volunteered, so that was a sign the tributes were cocky enough to believe they could win.

Both from 5 were 13 and Hanbin felt bad them, they die on the first day. Hanbin just hoped that when they went, they wouldn’t have to die a slow and painful death. When he saw himself and Helen on camera, he couldn’t recognize himself, it was like watching someone that looked, acted, and was called the same – but _wasn’t_ him. Hanbin couldn’t quite explain it, because even if it was District 6 he was looking at, and he could see both Lynnon and Clarence, he didn’t look like what he’d been feeling when he had been picked.

Hanbin had been freaking out on the inside, on the camera he looked calm. Hanbin wasn’t prepared for this, but the version of him looked ready to kill, to die, to come back a victor. Hanbin wasn’t even ready to leave the familiarity of this train, much less enter the arena or taking a life. The tributes from seven seemed threatening, especially the boy. He’d probably been climbing those trees and chopping woods since he could walk. Hanbin almost wanted to see a fight against Jiwon and District 7’s Aiden just to see who would win. The Career or the underdog?

District 8 and 9 brought nothing interesting, just misery and despair. The girl from 10 seemed interesting, Hanbin didn’t quite know how, but there was a certain aspect about her he couldn’t put his finger on. District 11 and 12 was just outright depressing, the poor children shouldn’t even be allowed to enter when they stood no chance against other tributes like Slate. Hanbin got up from the chair and turned off the tv, frankly, he didn’t want to watch it anymore. I pissed him off, how The Capitol could send this like it was entertainment and not children being sent off to their death. Hanbin took another apple that had been in front of him and walked out of the carriage, he was done watching television. Probably for the entire ride too. Hanbin wasn’t hungry, but he knew Clarence was right about one thing, he needed to eat a lot of food. Hanbin took another bite of the apple and finished it quickly. Before he left the carriage, he made sure to take a muffin with him. The thought of the sweet baked good seemed almost sickening at Hanbin wasn’t particularly hungry for it, but he still forced himself to take a bite of it. For a moment he was stunned over how good it was, he’d never tasted anything as good in District 6. The feeling disappeared quickly, and he was left with a sickening feeling.

The chocolate caramel muffin was good, but Hanbin wasn’t really hungry for it. He finished it, nonetheless, before he entered the bathroom. The bathroom was unlike anything Hanbin had seen, or well, it actually kind of reminded of the control panels at the front of the train. The shower was full of buttons, and so was seemingly everything else. Hanbin couldn’t really guess what everything was for in the large room, but he couldn’t manage to care what all the junk was for when he found what he assumed was a weight. Clarence’s words were still clear in his mind, and Hanbin knew he was forced to take to another level.

Obviously, Clarence hadn’t meant it like that, but that was because Clarence didn’t think like Hanbin. And Clarence didn’t know how smart Hanbin was. This was the reason Hanbin had a chance of winning and the reason why Helen didn’t. It wasn’t just about what one did in the training rooms to specialize in different skills, or what happened on the arena. It wasn’t about what one knew beforehand either. Everything one did form the reaping until one entered the arena mattered. Hanbin, for instance, knew that gaining weight would make it easier for him to survive. Helen – and other tributes – didn’t think like that. Either because they weren’t smart enough or because they were too caught up in mourning their own death to see a slight flicker of hope. They didn’t and the fact that they didn’t give Hanbin a bigger chance of winning. 

Hanbin stepped on the weight to see how many kilograms he was. The numbers flickered for a while until it settled on 66,4 kilograms. Hanbin did the quick math and easily calculated that with his height of 177 centimetres and his age, was a bit underweight. It wasn’t surprising to him, he furrowed his brows, if he gained about 2,5 kilograms in a week, making him 68,9 he’d have a lot of calories to burn on the arena even if he didn’t get food. Hanbin would be able to survive about nine days without food if he managed to gain so much in less than a week. Now, the arena would last longer than nine days, obviously, but nine days was probably more than half of the time spent there. If Hanbin could survive those nine days without getting killed, he would among the last handful of people there. 

By then the sponsors were bound to see how smart he was, they were bound to realise that he was an underdog that could win. That alone would gain him sponsors, making his chance of survival much higher. Hanbin was smart, he was fast, and if he gained two kilos, he’d have a winning chance. Hanbin stepped out of the weight still lost in thought, how much would he have to eat just to gain two and a half kilograms? He would have to eat at least the double amount of what he usually ate, and the days where they trained, he’d probably have to eat way more. Hanbin didn’t even feel hungry, and the thought seemed repelling, but he knew that in the end he had no choice and went towards the dining cart.

The food smelled the delicious Hanbin noted as he entered the cart, but in a way, it made his stomach curl. He wasn’t hungry, and when he took a portion of a delicious-looking lamb casserole, he didn’t feel like eating it, but Hanbin gave himself no choice but to finish. Halfway into his meal Helen joined him, she glanced at him and took a seat next to him, but she didn’t say anything. Hanbin desperately wanted to something, but he could tell she was in a sour mood. Hanbin knew he wasn’t here to make friends, but he felt so bad for her. He wanted to at least lighten the mood, even if it was just a little bit, even if it would fade away. He felt that it was his responsibility to do so too because he was the older, but every sound or attempt at a conversation was stuck in his throat. Helen didn’t look at him twice and didn’t make any attempt either.

“God, that bitch _forced_ to ‘bond with you’ or whatever,” Clarence said, and took a seat across from them, “she ruined a perfect high,” Clarence continued to complain, “honestly, she’s one of the reasons why this trip is always shit,” he mumbled. 

“You don’t need to bond with us,” Helen snappily replied, but Hanbin could tell that she was just bitter. “I mean, what would be the point of getting to know us if we’re going to die?”

“Now girlie, that’s what I told her too,” Clarence replied, and pulled out a pocket flask and took a huge swing of it, “but we’re not here to make friends, _obviously_. By ‘bonding time’ she means mentoring. Now, have you or have you not checked out the other tributes?” Clarence asked, although the question was directed to both of them, their mentor’s dark eyes only looked at Hanbin.

“No,” Helen answered, and looked down at the table at her food.

“Yes,” Hanbin replied.

“Good,” Clarence said and ignored Helen’s reply. “Tomorrow will be the parade, you both will be assigned a designer that makes a costume for you,” Clarence continued, “now usually, 6’s outfits are boring and forgettable, I was a train conductor. It’s always something with trains, and sadly you’ll probably have something shit. I don’t care, I have no power over what you’ll wear. But try to leave an impression, don’t stand there like a statue, you’ll just look stupid. Whatever, it’s not like anyone ever takes my advice,” Clarence said and got up, clearly angry. Hanbin felt for him, it was very obvious that Clarence felt guilty.

Obviously, it wasn’t the mentor’s fault kids from 6 had died in the games in previous years. If anything, it was The Capitol’s fault, but Clarence clearly had it on his shoulders weighing him down. The mentor took another sip of his flask, and he scoffed at Helen that looked she was about to say something.

“That’s it?” Helen settled on instead, “you’re not gonna give us more advice?”

“Listen, Helena, you’re dead to me anyway, nothing I say will help you,” Clarence said and finished the pocket flask, and went to the buffet looking for more liquor.   
“It’s _Helen_ ,” Helen corrected, and Clarence made a sound of indifference. He clearly didn’t care, and Hanbin pitied Helen once again. She didn’t deserve so harsh words even if it was the truth. “I don’t want an alcoholic's help anyway,” she shot back, and Hanbin felt uncomfortable. Helen was just creating more distance between her and Clarence, and he probably wouldn’t want to help someone that he disliked. She was digging her own grave.

“Good to know we agree on something,” he answered, and filled his bottle with a flask of green liquor. It looked expensive, even just the crystal bottle it was in looked more expensive than one month of Hanbin’s salary.

“Hanbin, may I talk to you?” Clarence said once he’d refilled his pocket bottle with the green liquor and added some ice, Hanbin got up from his chair, and Helen made a motion to follow after. “ _Alone_ ,” Clarence continued, and said the blonde girl a dirty look. Hanbin wanted to send her an apologetic look, even if he wasn’t the cause behind these rude actions. Helen stayed seated, while Clarence dragged Hanbin out of the cart.

“I see how you pity the girl,” Clarence voiced as the automatic doors closed behind them, “don’t.” Hanbin was about to reply, but Clarence beat him to it. “It’s better if you get used to the thought that she’s going to die.”

“What?” Hanbin asked, a bit surprised by the heartless words.

“You know, there’s only one winner,” Clarence said, “and it’s not gonna be her.” Hanbin froze, he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t even start a sentence and didn’t even know how to utter words of meaning. Clarence was unpredictable, Hanbin never knew what was going to come out of the brown-haired mentor. “I’m not playing favourites, but I don’t really have much choice here. She’s dead meat, while you – you have a chance. You seem smart, kiddo, if you drop her now you’ll be better off at the arena.”

“I … I – you don’t … she has a chance,” Hanbin managed to stutter out, “mathematically.”

“Numbers doesn’t always translate to the real world,” Clarence answered, “look at her,” Clarence said and forced Hanbin’s head to look at her throw the little window in the metal door, “does she look like a winner to you?” Hanbin hated to admit it but shook his head.

“She doesn’t,” he replied, but he didn’t want to be rude to Helen even if she was going to die. If anything, it even made him feel guiltier and wanted to treat her nicer. He was probably one of the last people she’d ever see. It felt like he had a responsibility to make sure her last moments wasn’t hell.

“As your mentor, I advise you to ignore her and focus on your own training. I’ve seen plenty of these games, I know how it usually goes down, if you team up with her, she’s gonna turn on you eventually, or you on her. At the arena, you can’t afford to be distracted, either by worry or grief. Drop her now, I’m sure you have people back home you want to see, and is girlie in there worth the distraction?” Clarence dark green eyes looked into his eyes, and Hanbin’s brown found the floor. He bit his bottom lips hesitantly before he shook his head slightly. Some of his black hair fell into his eyes before he met Clarence’s stare again.

“She isn’t,” Hanbin decided when thoughts of Hanbyul and Junhoe entered his mind.

“Good,” Clarence replied, “I ain’t got time for weaklings.” Clarence stayed silent for a while and looked at the green nature that flew by outside of the window. “We’ll arrive at Capitol tomorrow,” he said silently, “go eat some more, take a shower and head to bed early. And for the love of God, _act your best_ tomorrow.”

“I’m gonna finish this elsewhere,” Clarence informed him, shaking the pocket flask in front of him, and with that took off. Leaving Hanbin alone with the memory of the harsh words he’d just said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter even if not much happened and it took me forever to upload this chap! Next more double b in the next chapter, I promise! Thanks for reading and sweet comments, it means so much <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter, we finally get some good double b content, I don't know when chapter 6 will come, but I guess that adds more spice to it.

A tall, slim man in high heels crashed through the door as he entered the room in a dramatic entrée, Hanbin could almost hear Clarence ironic comment on how he needed to take notes. That was how you made an entrance, Hanbin would never in a million years be able to pull it off though. Not the high heels, and certainly not the dramatic aura his supposedly designer had.

“Sex,” the designer began, not even introducing himself, “you are sex!” he continued and did a jazz handshake. Hanbin’s brows furrowed as he looked at the designer not completely believing his own ears. “Forget the careers, this year everyone’s gonna talk about _you_. I can see the headlines ‘District 6’s sex symbol’. Oh yes! It’s going to be great.”

“What does sex even have to do with my district?” Hanbin daringly asked, “Aren’t we supposed to represent our districts?”

“Don’t worry, you foolish boy,” his designer asked, and looked at him in the eyes, but Hanbin could barely see his eyes with those long lashes on. “You might get some pepper for it, but that won’t matter when all eyes are on you, and I have actually thought this one out! My intelligence is impeccable, _Flavio, you’ve done again you genius,_ ” his designer replied, the last bit clearly meant for himself. Hanbin didn’t reply to that and only stared at Flavio waiting for the designer to continue.

“The tribute parade is obviously one of the most important events before the arena, this is where you leave the first impression on the other districts, tributes … and most important of all sponsors. And it _has_ to be good. A train conductor or a train worker is so _boring_. Not to mention _so_ last year. No, no, no. _I_ refuse to follow this stupid trend. The games need something new, something fresh. Something bold. Sex is just the right thing,” he declared.

“You will be a sexy train passenger, yes. No one will dare take their eyes off you. The careers will be overseen, the other districts are too boring to care about. You will grab the audience’s attention,” Flavio stretched out his right hand in front of Hanbin, showing his right hand with a leather glow on, “and keep it,” he said and closed the hand.

“I, don’t you think Helen is a bit too young to be a sex symbol?” Hanbin asked in lack of better things to say. He didn’t know what else to say, so he settled on a ridiculous question.

“How old is she?”

“She’s fourteen.”

“No, she’s coming of age, it’s just about right,” Flavio answered as if it wasn’t a big deal, and Hanbin felt sick to his stomach. Would the Capitol really sexualize a fourteen-year-old girl, older men would stare her up and down for the sake of entertainment? It was sick. “She’ll be a sexy female passenger by your side, but I don’t think she’ll steal your spotlight. You’re both on the skinnier side, but let’s talk about this _face_ ,” Flavio marvelled, and touched Hanbin’s left cheek with his leather glove. Hanbin wanted that hand gone, but he kept his mouth shut. “The work I can do. Oh, ho, ho. You’re like a fresh canvas, just waiting to be painted. Have you ever considered surgery?”

“Considered what?” Hanbin asked, not quite sure what Flavio was asking him.

“Shush now, boy-toy, I have to get to work,” Flavio replied, refusing to answer Hanbin’s question and just waved him off. With that, he began the important work and had little time for chit-chat, in Flavio’s own words. He did still find time to utter a few words here and there like ‘oh yes’, ‘definitely not’, ‘and they said man couldn’t do God’s work’ and last but not least ‘Flavio, you’ve outdone yourself, darling. This. Is. A. Masterpiece.’

“Okay, darling,” Flavio said and decided to take a few steps away from Hanbin to admire his work, “standstill, don’t move. Just pretend to be District 2 on the tribute parade – be a statue. I’ll get a mirror. If you fuck this up, love, I don’t think you’ll survive long enough to enter the arena.” Flavio laughed an evil, diabolical laughter as he ‘ta ta-ed’ out of the room. Hanbin could hear the squeaking of Flavio’s leather pants long after the sound of footsteps subdued. Until it was dead silent. Hanbin almost didn’t dare breathe, and he certainly didn’t dare move a muscle. Hanbin wondered how a sexy passenger looked like, but his question was answered when Flavio crashed through the doors again – could that man do anything without being dramatic?

He rolled in a mirror that was taller than himself, but covered in a black silk cloth, and reached down to the ground. He carefully positioned it in front of Hanbin before he narrowed his pink eyes – clearly wearing lenses – and studied Hanbin. When he was pleased to see that Hanbin had nearly moved he went back to the mirror.

“Are you ready to see yourself? Everyone’s gonna marvel at you, and maybe even drool a little bit. There’s no need to thank me when I was just doing my job, but a shoutout when you win would obviously be nice,” Flavio babbled, and Hanbin refrained from rolling his eyes. Was his work really that good, or was Flavio too confident? Hanbin got his answer when Flavio pulled away the black cloth to show Hanbin’s mirror image staring back at him. The version staring back at him wasn’t what Hanbin was used to, and he hardly recognized it

He wore a white shirt, only buttoned up half-way. Revealing most of his chest that was covered in slight red glitter and was heavily covered in make-up to make him look tanner and have more muscles. His pants were black leather, but quite different from Flavio’s. Hanbin’s were high-waisted, and they seemed to have been patted because Hanbin couldn’t remember ever looking so curvy in any clothes of his.

“It’s a part of the sex symbol thing,” Flavio quickly explained, “you’re going to have to attract both women and men, so I decided to give you more bottom energy.” Hanbin only furrowed his brows at the reply. “Obviously, women will swarm over you, but most sponsors are men, and you don’t look very intimidating or strong. They won’t sponsor you if I tried to make a warrior out of you but like this? When you look like a snack? You have a chance, it’s slim, and it all depends on you, but there’s still a chance.”

Hanbin’s face was almost unrecognizable. His features like cheekbones, nose and jaw were highlighted to make it look sharper, and he saw the same shimmer of red glitter. His black hair was dragged back to reveal his face better, but he also looked hotter that way, he had to admit. His lips looked almost plumper than usual, but he knew they weren’t Flavio had just covered his lips with something to draw more attention to them. His eyes, who were usually dull and dark, popped more and were more noticeable because of the red-winged eyeliner that covered some of his eyelids and dragged out towards his hairline. Hanbin looked good, sexy even – but he couldn’t really say he represented his district.

“It doesn’t feel much like 6,” Hanbin commented, and Flavio only smirked.

“That’s the point, love,” he replied, “no one cares about such boring district like 6. I bet half or more doesn’t even know your name. You need to grab their attention, and you sure as hell doesn’t do it by looking like a train. Now, come.” Flavio ordered and Hanbin started to follow the man. They walked out of the room, and past the team that had prepared Hanbin before he met Flavio. Hanbin’s heavy combat boots crashed against the floor as they walked in silence, while Flavio’s high heeled shoes only clacked against the floor.

It didn’t take long before they met up with Clarence, Lynnon, Helen and her designer – another male dressed in a pink kimono. 

“There they are,” Clarence mumbled as they approached them. There were a lot of people around them, and Hanbin recognized some of them as earlier victors or current tributes. There were twelve carriages with black horses in front of them, and Hanbin felt intrigued by this. They didn’t have horses in six, District 6 was the district of transportation, but they solely focused on technological transportation methods that could reach 400 kilometres an hour.

Hanbin’s eyes met Helen, and he felt bad for her. She looked like a child prostitute, obviously not by choice. He felt sick to his stomach knowing people were going to sexualize and fetish her when she was only a child. Hanbin couldn’t even see the sex appeal in her because of her young age. She looked pretty, but it was disturbing. Hanbin dragged his eyes off the blonde and met Clarence’s gaze. Hanbin almost knew what Clarence was thinking just by looking at him, he disliked it too. Not the costumes, but the motive, the reason they had to look sexy, the games and everything Capitol forced them to do.

Lynnon walked over to Helen to talk to her. She’d probably noticed Clarence’s dismissive behaviour towards her and had taken it upon herself to give her tips and tricks. Clarence’s didn’t care if the escort wasted her time and energy on Helen. She was bound to die, and Clarence couldn’t do anything about it, but he could help Hanbin. He could try to save him, Helen was a lost cause, but Hanbin wasn’t. Not for now.

“At least you’ll get other people’s attention,” Clarence muttered to him and dragged Hanbin a bit away from the crowd so he could talk privately with him.  
“By selling my body yeah,” Hanbin agreed.

“It’ll do the work,” Clarence mumbled. He clearly wasn’t fond of the idea, but what could he do? “Man, I wished I had my pocket flask here,” he continued, mostly to himself.

“We’re not that captivating though, people will glance over us, and then look again, but I don’t think it’s enough to _keep_ their attention,” Hanbin said and dragged his hand through his hair. Only then noticing the red polish on his fingernails.

Clarence hummed in agreement. “By the end of the night they won’t remember Helen, that’s for sure. But they might remember yours. Make sure they’ll remember you, Hanbin.”

“How do I do that?”

“Go against the flow, do something they’re not expecting,” Clarence replied as if it was easy, and Hanbin sighed. It wasn’t that easy, and although Hanbin knew the words by heart he still didn’t know what action to tie it to. Sure, he could be different from everyone else, but how did he do that? Clarence didn’t answer though, and instead he walked away back to their team leaving Hanbin alone. 

“That’s not really an answer,” Hanbin mumbled to himself and went up to the horses. The horses were better company than the rest of the team. Flavio was a bit too much, Helen only brought the mood down, Lynnon was too strict and Clarence clearly didn’t know how to give him proper advice. Hanbin didn’t have any expectations for the horses, thus they didn’t disappoint him. Hanbin’s hand stroked the black fur, and the horse just neighed at him.

“Wow, that’s one hell of an outfit,” someone commented behind him. It was a dark male voice, and when Hanbin turned around only to meet the male tribute from District 2. He seemed taller on television, but he still raged slightly over Hanbin. He was wearing gold metal boots that reached up to his knee and a brown high-waisted leather corset that mixed into a red cloth that had the Panem symbol in the middle as a buckle. The blood-red cloth was open on the front and longer at the back. His chest was bare, only covered leather straps that formed an x. 

From his right shoulder and down to his wrist he was covered with some metal mixed with leather looking thing, that circled across his fingers. His left arm was completely bare. His face was almost just as bare, having only slight make-up to bring attention to his already strong features. While his black hair was dragged back to reveal his undercut better.

“What district is it?” he continued taking a few brave steps closer to Hanbin.

“Guess,” Hanbin answered easily, as a playful smirk crossed his features.

“Hm, I don’t even know … eight?” he guessed, but Hanbin knew it wasn’t even a calculated guess and more of an assumption.

“Wrong,” Hanbin smiled, “I’m from six.”

“Wait, isn’t that the train district?” Jiwon from district 2 asked, and Hanbin nodded in confirmation, “you don’t look much like something to do with trains.” He continued, Hanbin knew he wasn’t trying to be rather, he was just stating the truth. Hanbin agreed he couldn’t tie himself up to District 6 either, not even with Flavio’s explanation.

“I’m supposed to be a ‘train passenger’,” Hanbin began, “the whole attire is merely a way to get people’s attention.”

“And do you think it will work?” Jiwon intrigued, only slightly leaning closer towards Hanbin. He was smirking, and Hanbin had to force himself not to take a step back to prevent crashing into the horse.

“Well it got your attention, didn’t it?” Hanbin shot back, and Jiwon’s smirk turned to into a slight smile.

“Touché,” Jiwon replied instantly.

They were silent for a little while before Hanbin spoke up again. “Well, yours is easy, gladiator, District 2,” Hanbin said with ease, he could see several emotions run across Jiwon’s face, but none of them stayed for long.

“That was fast,” he commented.

“Oh, please. Gladiator is cliché,” Hanbin said. “And you don’t look much like someone from twelve either,” he continued, smirking ever so visible. Jiwon returned the smirk, and his gaze swept over Hanbin, lingering on all the wrong places.

“Maybe not,” he answered, this time his voice had lowered slightly, making his already dark voice deeper. It looked like was about to say something, but Hanbin caught the eye of Clarence who heavily motioned for him to come over. A reluctant sigh escaped Hanbin before he was aware of it, and he forced himself to meet Jiwon’s heavy gaze one last time.

“It was nice meeting you, Jiwon,” he said before he left the boy alone with the horses. Hanbin could feel Jiwon stare on his back as he walked over to his mentor, but he didn’t turn once.

“Hanbin, this really isn’t the time to make friends,” Clarence scolded, “besides, he’s a career, you can’t ally up with him.”

Hanbin only shrugged, “I know that. He was the one who approached me. I won’t be that friendly at the arena.”

“Good.”

With that Clarence led him to the carriage where Helen was already standing. She shot Hanbin an angry glare, but he ignored it and her completely. The carriages were already lining up, and Hanbin could hear the faint sound of music and the audience’s roaring. Not long after District 1 was on the move, followed by District 2 only seconds later. It went much faster than Hanbin anticipated, and before he knew it, he could see the carriage in front of him, District 5, leave. Only seconds later did their own carriage start moving. 

His heart was beating so loudly he could hardly hear the loud roar of the audience. His palms were growing sweaty, and Hanbin knew adrenaline was flowing through his veins. He itched to move or hide away from all this attention – but he couldn’t. all Hanbin managed to do was take a few slow breathes, hopefully calming his nerves, but he was only semi-successful at it. All he could do was stare blankly at nothing in front of him as his senses slowly came back to him. It was only when Hanbin remembered Clarence’s words of advice that he completely drifted back to reality. As Hanbin came back he realised they were almost at the end at the ride. Hanbin was desperate to do something, _anything_ , but he didn’t know what. The audience was roaring out his name, so Hanbin turned towards the audience on his left and flashed a big smile towards them. It felt fake, and Hanbin didn’t even know why he was doing it. 

When the audience quieted down again – or were more silent at least – Hanbin started to blow them kisses. It felt weird, and so out of character for him, but Hanbin didn’t have much hope. If this little action would save his life in the future Hanbin had no choice but to do it. This was a necessary strategy; it was either this; degrading himself to be one of Capitol’s many pets or die and never see his family again.

Sure, Hanbin hated bowing down to Capitol, but he didn’t have much choice. Ever since Lynnon pulled his name out of that note in District 6 Hanbin’s fate was already laid out for him. He’d either die or do what was necessary to survive. Hanbin was obviously too smart to willingly walk into certain death. The audience lowed Hanbin’s kisses and acted like savage animal’s fighting to be hit from Hanbin’s kisses, and Hanbin found it strange and amusing at the same time.

The moment didn’t last long, and the carriage quickly pulled onto the main square where President Snow was going to have a welcoming speech. Hanbin had never liked President Snow, there was something about him that set Hanbin off, but he’d never said it out loud. Maybe once to Junhoe, but that was different, he told Junhoe everything. As President Snow held his speech Hanbin’s mind was elsewhere, it was back in six with Junhoe. Hanbin missed him terribly, and the only comfort he had was Junhoe’s family ring. Hanbin caught Jiwon’s eye in the middle of the speech when the boy from District 2 turned around to find him, but Hanbin looked away instantly. He didn’t know why Jiwon had a sudden interest in him, but he wasn’t here to find out.


End file.
